Fairy Tales

[Dee]

Guess what? I didn't want to do this assignment either. LOL!!

Too funny!
One thing we have learnt from this course is that Lori might drag her little feet at times at given clearly defined writing tasks, but she just needs to sit down and get on with it... and writing will flow and be pleasurable. Every. Time.

The rewritten story:

She fell against the door, closing her eyes and catching her breath. Was he really capable of such horror? Why had he nearly forced her hand to turn the key and grasp the latch, knowing what she would discover?

The plain pasty face. Those beady eyes layers and layers behind the thick glass watching her every move. Her brain rejected this blunt end. Wasn’t he a grand philanthropist? Didn’t he strive to solve insurmountable global problems with his fortunes and time? The hero’s heart, they said, and the jet-set playground would in time compensate for the affront to the senses. She shuddered recalling his sweaty red thistle head burrowing against her beating heart and those clumsy hands on her young skin – the same hands that showed no mercy as they ended her delicate and beautiful predecessors. These brides who were bid a mean adieu lay scattered before her now in varying degrees of miserable decay.

Is this the heavy price I pay for my insatiable spirit? Truly, the gilded cage in which I’ve lain has been a trap from the words “I do.”

Now, the sister to a very insatiable spirit is often a very crafty mind. Bolstering her resolve and holding her nose, she carefully fashioned a pile from a faded dress here and a sweater there, and finally topped it all with her own brightly-flowered shawl fluffing and arranging until it seemed to the naked eye to be her pitiful body prostrate on the floor, her back to the open door. Surely his weak eyes would not register this deception.

She then stepped gingerly out of the dark chamber and slipped into the shadows just outside the door, hearing above her the footfall of her gruesome groom. Such a pitiful wailing did she emit, crying as if her heart had broken and her mind had found flight. Down the winding stairs quietly slithered her murderous mate, his pale face alive with macabre anticipation and a glint of sharp silver in his hand. He silently rushed past her hiding place into the dankness beyond the entry, intent to sever her spine and pierce her heart. So rapt was he on his malicious mission, he nary heard the door behind him shut and the beguiling key turn the bolt.

Such a satiating read with all its suspension and attention to detail. The character of Blue Beard emerging as quite a few men who've been pulled down the pedestal after their dark private lives have been exposed. This one is obviously taken dark to another level, but the story as it stands now, could be a perfect metaphor for discovering a man's secret past of abusing women and then bringing them to justice. Very contemporary.

And of course she does it all alone with no help from the cavalry, and not even the sister. (Clever word play on the original story to say "a sister to a very insatiable spirit".

The description of the horror of reliving intimate moments with someone who's just been revealed to be a monster, was so chilling!

[Dee]

He was kind and considerate and owned an island in the Caribbean.

Loved this modern day setting, Mz K, with your trade mark humour - I loved this sentence! Along with the one about how he could progress her career in the film industry - what's not to like? Delicious depictions of the shallowness of a wannabe.

Maybe her character change at the end is a bit optimistic, but discovering dead bodies in the freezer and nearly ending up in one too can knock a person down a few notches to rebuild for sure.

Fun read, Mz K. Definitely a modern take and the moral shifting to making women more careful about their life/partner choices.

[Dee]

Oh, those hands, dude...

[Dee]

For my retelling of the story, I went with the moral, listen to your gut instincts.


Rowena was dizzy with excitement. Blue Beard showed her the best time of her life. They partied into the early hours of the morning every single night. She could easily get used to living like this, she thought. All she had to do was say yes and marry him, and all these riches could be hers to enjoy. Her life would be an endless adventure. So she resolved to cast all romantic ideas of marrying for love aside. She said yes. And the parties continued on. The money flowed from inexhaustible sources.

Each day she tried harder to silence that nagging feeling about not knowing anything about his past. He made it clear it was nothing to do with her. He would not talk to her about his previous wives. He would not tell her how he made his fortune. Whenever she plucked up the courage to ask, he brushed her off saying only the present mattered, the past needed to be left where it belonged: in the past. The last time she dared to probe, he got really angry and told her if she couldn't let it go, there'd be consequences. This only made her more obsessed with wanting to know.

The next time Blue Beard left on undisclosed "business", leaving her plenty of money to have some fun, she went straight into his office that he had forbidden her to enter. She was prepared to take her time, going through his stuff, fishing for information. But right in the first drawer she tried, there lay a fancy key, almost ostentatiously. She was immediately overcome with irresistible desire to find whatever the key could possibly open. And it was ridiculously easy. Behind the painting of Pandora right above his desk, there was a safe. The key fitted perfectly.

In there was a knife. Gloves. Bloodied rags. And a file. A file full of pictures of gruesomely murdered women. From all angles. Close ups.

She wretched. Bile filled her mouth, but she couldn't look away, paralysed with fear and realisation.

And then she heard the heavy footsteps. Well, of course. The doorknob turned slowly and she remained motionless like a rabbit in headlight. She felt his eyes burning into the back of her head. An arm reaching for the knife from behind. A hand grabbing a fistful of her hair. Then a sharp blade at her throat.

And in that last moment she was certain, with overwhelming clarity, that somehow she always knew.

[Moonchime]

For my retelling of the story, I went with the moral, listen to your gut instincts.




In there was a knife. Gloves. Bloodied rags. And a file. A file full of pictures of gruesomely murdered women. From all angles. Close ups.



And in that last moment she was certain, with overwhelming clarity, that somehow she always knew.

Well a thrilling horror story indeed Ms Dee - you had me chilled to the bone with the pictures taken from all angles - close ups - YUK!!!
A clever way of getting out of the problems of discovering gruesome body parts - in fact I swear I saw a series on telly where the guy kept photos of his female victims on his phone or come to think of it - his computer!!!

Of course it's your ending that really disturbs and upsets - you very wisely don't explain anything beyond that metaphorical and literal splice - it reminded me of Perrault's Red Riding Hood. Very effective and definitely one to hammer home your moral!!!
Deep down she always knew but didn't listen to the still small voice; she let the glitter dazzle her blind to everything else and ignored the warnings that hummed in the background. Her focus was in the wrong place.

A very different moral to that of Blue Beard which seemed bonkers to me and I wasn't sure whether the whole point of our rewrite was to illustrate the contradiction of trying to keep to his moral whilst appealing to a modern - day audience!!
Definitely the stuff of nightmares!
Despite that I have really enjoyed all our romps through this weird fairy tale - it has brought me unexpected joy.